


Growing Pains

by JumpingInMuddlePuddles



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Other, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Bashing, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, fuck c!phil, im a tommy apologist, no beta we die like schlatt, sleepy boys incorporated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JumpingInMuddlePuddles/pseuds/JumpingInMuddlePuddles
Summary: Philza is mid-blowing-up-L’Manberg when he realises what he has done to his boys, how out of control he has let this become.akai hate phil in cannon and try and fix it5th and 6th of Jan Stream Spoilers
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 14
Kudos: 402





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> i AM A TOMMY APOLOGIST
> 
> yeah so i really dislike c!Phil at the moment for valid reason so my sbi heart is determined to fix it 
> 
> this is horribly written but i don’t care lmao this is purely self indulgence

He stopped laughing.

Phil couldn't breathe.

Like his head had been dunked in icy cold water, and he manually had to force air back into his lungs. His body couldn't do it by itself.

He paused, trident clutched tightly in one hand, healing potion in the other, and he couldn't breathe. A hot, tight coil wrapped around his throat and down, deep down, into his chest.

The choked breathing and haggard screaming of the withers storming about the air around him fell on death ears.

Phil dropped the potion.

Tommy looked so small in Ghostbur's arms, limp and unconscious and dangerously fragile. Just like he had when he was a child. Tubbo was sobbing beside them, yelling something unintelligible as the three knelt on the ground, Ghostbur hunching over him as though trying to use his shoulders and feeble yellow sweater as a shield. They were defenseless.

Tommy was soaked in blood.

A bomb detonated behind them. None of them flinched.

Phil's heart plummeted to his stomach. What had he done? He forced his lungs to work, to push air into his organs to keep his blood flowing.

He had let Techno get carried away. Fuck. He had let Technoblade get carried away.

Phil tossed the trident to the side, uncaring and oblivious to the withers around him, ignoring Techno's protests as he sprinted across the narrow beam, fighting the rising panic.

No, no, no, no, no.

Tommy wasn't dead, Tommy was fine, loud, annoying, stupid Tommy was fine.

He slid down the edge of the obsidian, hands scraping along the wall of the black rock to try and cushion his fall. He vaguely felt a fingernail or two rip open on the harsh edge. He didn't feel it.

He couldn't breathe. Every inhale was agony, like his throat was being shredded by the very air he brought in to his body. His shirt was clammy against his skin. He blinked back tears.

He dropped to the ground and raced across the battlefield, narrowly avoiding the fireball of a wither that grazed his head, knocking his hat off, and ducking under an enraged Sapnap who tried to raise his blade against him.

Phil sent him flying.

His mind was only on his boys. His sons.

In his panic, Phil didn't see the rock, that sent him sprawling across the floor, grazing his hands and knees on the ground, little pieces of stone wedging themselves in his skin.

Ghostbur looked up, and sad, grief-filled and glassy eyes locked on to Phil's fallen figure. Green met milky white.

Ghostbur drew back his lips and beared his teeth, pulling Tommy closer to his chest.

"We need to get out of here," He had murmured to Tubbo, who pushed back his tears and nodded. Ghostbur, with impressive strength, picked Tommy up in his arms. Tommy's limp head lolled against Wilbur's ugly, mustard sweater and Phil shuddered with the memory of Wilbur's own head against his shoulder.

He couldn't loose his kids again.

Phil struggled to his feet.

"Wil, wait!" He cried, voice cracking as it trembled.

Ghostbur didn't look back. Tubbo flinched when he heard his voice, but continued to scale the crater they had been trapped in. A wither shot an explosion at them, and the family were separated by a cloud of smoke.

Phil slammed his hand into the concrete, climbing to wobbly feet and sprinting after them. He couldn't loose his boys, not again.

The world had already taken one from him.

Oh, god, what had he done?

Had his actions taken another of his kids from this world?

Techno's laughter echoed above him. He was waltzing above on the beams of obsidian as though this was some sort of game. It had been a game, at the start.

It had started with little things, when Techno was a child. When it had just been the little things, like the slaughter of the barnyard cat who had started laying around inside their home. Like when Wilbur and Techno sparred together, and it had spun horribly out of Phil's hands. He could still remember the day, Wilbur had been whimpering in pain and fear, helmet strung across the courtyard and his neck stuck in one of Techno's headlocks.

Phil remembered the unhinged look on Technoblade's face.

He remembered promising to Techno to never let the 'voices' in his son's head, the bloodlust, get to him ever again. And look what happened now.

Phil had broken that promise.

He broke into a stumbling run, past the clouds of wither smoke, past the fighting, past the sounds of warfare and he clambered up the crater. He gasped for breath as he stood on shaky ankles on the wet grass. He couldn't stop his hands from trembling. He tightened them into fists.

Wilbur, Ghostbur, Tubbo, Tommy- He scanned the desolated remains, peering through the clouds of billowing steam that seemed to radiate from the very earth below his feet. The three figures were crouched by a small ravine in the fare side of the battlefield, using the rubble of what seemed to be a library as cover.

Tommy? Was he breathing? Phil's pulse roared in his ears. He couldn't tell.

He went to run, when a large, heavy hand grabbed his arm. Phil's instincts kicked in and he whipped around to punch his attacker in the face, only to falter when Techno's mask stared back at him.

"Where are you going, Phil?" Techno squawked over the sounds of bloodshed. There was a maniacal glint in his eye. If this wasn't Phil's son, he would have been afraid. Blood splattered his outfit and for a second Technoblade's was unrecognisable as his son. This was just the Blade. A God hell-bent on destruction.

Phil yanked his hand away, staring down a surprised Techno, who's face relaxed slightly from that of utter mania, something deeper rippling under the surface, as if trying to break the glass of Techno's warped reality.

"Are you okay?"

Phil strained a smile into his face. He didn't feel like fighting anymore. He just wanted to go home. Such a childish wish for someone who had caused so much suffering on his own kin.

"I'm fine. Go and fight Eret, or whatever. I'm going to go do something."

Techni watched him for a moment, as though scanning his face for any hint of an untruth, before he nodded, the bloodlust returning tenfold as he leapt down the cliff face and back into the fray, drawing his rocketlauncher and aiming for the sky.

That wasn't his kid.

Phil had broken his promise.

He shook his head.

Techno was the least of his worries, at the moment.

Philza's head snapped over to the ragged three and he got to his feet, limping across to them. When he was almost there, Tubbo looked up, a tense look drawn across his face. He nudged Ghostbur, who was preoccupied by Tommy's limp body, who spun around, immediately on guard.

"Don't come any closer." Wilbur called warily across to him.

Phil felt his heart shatter a little. His muscles were screaming at him to unsheathe his shield, draw his sword and attack the wither like he had slain so many before. The urge to protect his family, running off pure adrenaline.

"Please, Wil, Tubbo, I just want to help," His voice cracked again, so he sounded like he was begging. He was begging, wasn't he.

Wilbur set his jaw. He looked angry. Phil could still see the scar that lay neatly across his forehead. The one Techno had given to him after loosing control. As though it was important enough to drag into the afterlife. 

"After everything you've done, everything you've helped to create, you just want to help? Your hands were forged in destruction, Phil." The ghost thundered, boyce raising to such a crescendo it seemed as though countless voices were crying out with him. The wind picked up around him and just for a moment, a split second, Phil thought he saw Wilbur's old jacket flicker and glitch onto the boy for just a moment. But he blinked and it was gone. "You used that power to protect, but now you're terrorising innocent people. Why? You've done enough.The library is blown up, Techno is out of control, Friend is dead-"

"Wilbur?"

The other three paused as the small voice called. Tommy reached a thin hand - (far too skinny fair too frail how did Phil let it get this bad), and the wind immediately dropped. Ghostbur dropped towards his brother, clasping his hand in his and murmuring sweet things, promises of nothing and false reassurances.

Phil stood there, muscles suddenly lax with relief. Tommy was alive. He was alive, for now.

"Tubbo-" He began as the smaller boy got to his feet, blood and scraped bleeding through his torn and burnt presidential uniform.

Tubbo stayed quiet for a moment, eyes hidden by his bangs, before his green eyes glanced throw his hair, and then he struck.

He slapped Phil hard across the face. Hard.

Phil's neck snapped back in impact. It didn't even hurt that much, but the shock of the smack is what stung the most. Even the most kindhearted, caring child could rise to violence when provoked.

And Phil had provoked him.

He deserved it. Phil deserved so much worse. He bowed his head, but Tubbo simply sighed, stepping out of the way.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?" He asked quietly. The words so soft struck him to the core.

Phil felt a sob rise in his chest. "I'm going to fix it," And he pushed through the mud and dropped to his knees beside Tommy. Ghostbur eyed him angrily.

Phil's throat aches and strained with the force of keeping his cries down. Tommy looked so small, watching the world with half-lidded, hazy eyes, covered by Tubbo's old presidency jacket thrown over the top of him like some weak attempt at a blanket.

Tommy looked at Phil, his blue eyes glimmering with something that made him look wise beyond his age. Phil used his trembling, unsteady hands to peel back the jacket, and then peel back the shirt below it that had been drenched in blood.

Where was his amour?

Oh, right. He didn't have any because Phil and Techno attacked early. Too early for them to do anything.

These were children. Phil had sabotaged, fought and nearly killed children. His skin itched with something that burned just under the surface. Self-loathing.

He needed to fix it. He didn't know what he was going to do if he wasn't able to mend things.

He looked up at Wilbur, jaw set firmly. Whilst he had looked down, Ghostbur's face had relaxed from anger into something softer, like concern.

He was just a child, too.

Phil felt sick.

His hands shook with unprecedented velocity as he fiddled for this inventory and pulled out one of his last healing potions. The blood on his hand, both his own and Tommy's, smeared against the glass, making it seem to glow, backlit from the potion that radiated light.

Phil his shaking increased tenfold as he propped Tommy's head up with his other arm, gently - so gently, with the tenderness one treats an infant - pressed the bottle to his son's lips. He was going to save him. Phil didn't know what he was going to do if he lost another son.

Tommy obediently began to take little sips of the potion, conscious enough to understand that it was going to help him. He broke off half way through in a series of gagging, hacking coughs. Ghostbur tensed out of the corner of his eye.

Phil didn't have the right to care for Tommy at this moment. He thought resignedly, handing the rest of the potion to Wilbur and getting to his feet. He was stronger now. The guilt still ran thick in his veins, but it was joined with a stronger vengeance, and a crippling hatred for what he had done.

"You're still going to need to wrap the wound when you give him the potion." He advised. "It won't be able to fix the damage completely. He can still die from shock and blood loss." He unsheathed his sword.

"Where are you going?" Tubbo asked, louder this time. Like seeing the care with which Phil treated Tommy, with the insurance of knowing Tommy should be fine, added strength to his words.

Phil looked back at him, steel in his eyes. "I'm going to put an end to this."

He was going to save Techno like he had promised so long ago. He was going to fucking murder Dream, naming him pay for all he had done.


End file.
